


Sunrise

by Augustus



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-16
Updated: 2009-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-16 08:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8095288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augustus/pseuds/Augustus
Summary: Yet another mission gone wrong





	

Spock's skin was a frightening shade of yellow, and his pulse, when Jim checked it for what must have been the hundredth time, remained fluttery and inconsistent. There was something in his supine body that betrayed the fact that he was not merely sleeping — perhaps the unnatural stillness of his form.

Jim shivered slightly, as much from ill ease as from the chill of the night air. Picking up the long stick that rested at his side, he used it to poke a little more life into the embers of the fire that he had lit hours earlier. Really, it needed more fuel, but Jim was reluctant to leave Spock's side unless it proved unavoidable, in case he were to emerge from his healing trance in need of Jim's assistance, only to find him gone. 

The embers found a new burst of feeble life, a brief rush of sparks rising into the darkness and casting an eerie glow over Spock's face. Prompted by the temporary increase in visibility, Jim took the opportunity to examine Spock for any sign of improvement... or decline. Not for the first time, he had to suppress a rush of regret that he had not thought it necessary for Bones to accompany the landing party to the planet's surface. There had been no cause to expect that the simple mission would turn lethal, however, no way to predict the trap that had resulted in the deaths of three of the Enterprise's security team and stranded Jim and Spock on the planet. 

"Damn Klingons," Jim muttered, rewetting the rag of cloth that he had torn from his shirt and gently pressing it to Spock's forehead. The familiar dry heat of the Vulcan's body had been replaced by a sickly warmth that radiated from his skin. He didn't react at all to Jim's ministrations, even his eyelids remaining tightly closed and deathly still.

Jim watched Spock in silence for a few minutes, before clambering awkwardly to his feet. Stretching his arms skywards, he winced as his neck and back protested against his having been huddled over Spock's motionless body for so long. He rubbed the back of his neck, digging his fingers into the stiffened flesh, as he surveyed what he could see of the surrounding area. The nearby scrub was edible, if unappetising, according to Spock's tricorder, and the water in the creek was metallic tasting but fit to drink. If necessary, they could survive for months — provided that Spock could overcome the poison that was coursing through his veins. 

On the very edge of the faint circle of firelight, Jim could just make out the crumpled form of one of his fallen men. Simpson, by the look of it. He had a girlfriend in Maintenance, if Jim remembered correctly. It didn't matter how many times he had been forced to do so; breaking that kind of news never got any easier.

From where Jim stood, Spock's stillness was even more evident. Frowning, he watched the alarmingly slow rise and fall of Spock's chest, noticing the way the skin over his jaw and cheekbones looked as though it had been too tightly stretched. His lips, usually noticeably pink against the faintly green hue of his skin, now looked grey in the flickering light. His stomach clenching, Jim allowed his body to sag to the ground once more. Reaching out, he lifted Spock's hand from here it lay lifelessly on his chest, squeezing it tightly as though somehow, through his touch, he might be able to give Spock some of his own energy and health. 

"You stupid, stubborn fool," he murmured, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of Spock's hand. "That trap was meant for me." 

Jim couldn't really feel angry, however, as much as that would have been preferable to the dull dread that filled his mind. He'd have done the same for Spock without even thinking, just as he'd take the poison into his own body that very moment, if someone were to show him how.

Towards the north, the sky seemed to be growing a little lighter. Jim stared at the shadowy hollows of Spock's cheeks as he wondered how the Enterprise was faring against the Klingon ship. As much as he hated to be away from her during a battle, he knew at heart that Scotty would keep her safe until his return. All the same, he couldn't help casting the occasional glance to the heavens, searching for the faintest glow of phaser fire.

With his free hand, Jim reached out to poke the fire once more. There was very little life left in the embers, but the faint glow that was beginning to colour the northern sky gave Jim hope that the long night was soon to end. It could have been a lot worse, he mused. As it was, his concern for Spock had distracted him from the full intensity of the cold. 

Without releasing Spock's hand, Jim shifted so that he was sitting a little more comfortably, stretching his legs out along the sandy ground. "You're really going to have to stop doing this," he said softly, shifting his grip a little as he tried not to think about the lack of response that he received from Spock's fingers. "One day that meditation thing isn't going to be enough... and then what will I do?"

Spock remained silent. Frustrated by his inability to help, Jim ran a shaky hand through his hair, before retrieving his communicator and making another unsuccessful attempt to contact the Enterprise. "I think I'm going to have to rethink including you in landing parties." He brushed a smudge of dirt away from Spock's cheek. "You'd be safer on the bridge."

Without opening his eyes, Spock spoke. "Then who will ensure _your_ safety?" His voice was weak and his words were halting, but when he finally looked at Jim, his eyes were full of warmth.

"Spock," Jim said. There were no words to express the full depth of his relief, so he just smiled down at his friend, squeezing his hand a little too forcefully. "You had me worried for a while there. Spock, I—"

"I know, Jim." Spock's eyes began to drift closed again, but this time he merely looked exhausted, instead of close to death. He shifted slightly on the ground, but made no attempt to remove his hand from Jim's grasp.

Spock's skin was still alarmingly sallow and the lines of his face still looked too sharp, but the breaths he took were less laboured and the heat that emanated from his skin no longer seemed so feverish. Once again, the worst had passed.

The first, peach-tinted glow of sunrise began to cast a blush over the harsh terrain. Jim grasped Spock's hand a little tighter, the warmth of the morning reflected in his smile.


End file.
